Collin County Moms is thrilled to present “Honest Moms,” a series on authentic, vulnerable looks at motherhood and life in general: the good, the bad, and the ugly—what we love, what we struggle with, and what we are working through—all as a way to connect with YOU. We want to know what you’re going through, what encourages you, what helps in the times of confusion, chaos, and solitude. We are all in this together, and our community is a strong one that seeks to lift others up.
Okay, the truth? I never wanted to be a mom.
Growing up, I was awkward around kids, wondering what to say or how to say it, and they made me uncomfortable. Kids just stare, don’t they? Seeming to expect something witty or funny like a silly face or a little dance. They’re egocentric and self-involved, and I never knew how to handle that. While all my other friends babysat to make a little extra side money, I wanted absolutely nothing to do with that nonsense.
Even as an adult, kids intimidated me in this weird way I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Before having children, I was Miss Judgy Judgington—that person who was super annoyed by kids in restaurants and other social situations when parents couldn’t control their little heathens. It wasn’t just that I didn’t know how to interact with them that made me feel ill-equipped to be a mom. It was that I too felt egocentric; I wasn’t interested in giving up my sleep or sacrificing my time to take care of them. I treasured my long afternoon naps, my slow, easy weekend mornings, and hopping in the car for a last-minute rendezvous with my husband or friends.
And Then There Were Two
However, in October 2005, I found myself in quite the predicament. Everyday for a couple of weeks, I had this low-grade nausea that just would not relent. Certain smells wreaked havoc on my body, making me light-headed and woozy. I was sure I had stomach cancer, but the doctor I visited assured me I was just stressed and prescribed Vicodin with a nightly glass of red wine. The red wine I could handle; the Vicodin, no thank you. Plus, I was sure I did have stomach cancer, so I went for a second opinion. This time, I was given the news I never thought I’d hear—I was pregnant.
My tears couldn’t be contained when the test came back positive. The medical staff was slightly on edge, I could tell, but I couldn’t contain the disappointment. A few days later, the nurse called to make sure I was okay; she said they worried about me after my reaction in the office. I assured them I was fine (i.e., I wasn’t going to do anything crazy), but I was absolutely, positively, not okay. I cried and cried and cried, knowing full well that I was going to have this baby even when I was unprepared emotionally, mentally, and physically to take care of a little bundle of Not-Joy.
Nine weeks after that bad news, I received even worse news—I was having twins. At the same time, I found out that my bundle of Not-Joy were Monochorionic Monoamniotic twins, which meant they were high-risk and would be sharing a placenta…their life source…and fighting for their little lives. My life was halted, dead in its tracks. This wasn’t how I wanted things to go.
At the time, I recall everything about life and pregnancy just pretty much being a disaster, and when I wasn’t knocking myself out with Benadryl just to make the nausea and racing thoughts go away, I was journalling some pretty dark entries. One day, I found myself at the local bookstore, hoping for some inspiration. I bought Pregnancy Sucks: What to do When Your Miracle Makes You Miserable because it felt like the book was written just for me. But then, I stumbled on another book, Becoming Attached: First Relationships and How They Shape Our Capacity to Love.
I was eager to find out how my inability to bond to the growing creatures inside me would impact them, but admittedly, I was also plagued with the idea that there was something wrong with me. Why on earth was I so self-involved and unable to attach to these babies? Why did I loathe the thought of having kids? What scared me so much?
Becoming Attached
To dive into my own story of attachment would take volumes, so I’ll give the shortened version.
I grew up with a single mom who worked harder than any woman I’ve ever known. We didn’t have money for basic needs much of the time, and if it weren’t for the local food bank and the community, we wouldn’t even have food to eat some days. Never mind basic needs, Mom worked so much and such long hours, that she was barely home, and when she was, she was too tired for long talks, tuning in, or the emotional involvement I needed as a human being. We were in survival mode much of our lives, and while Mom did an amazing job providing, she was standoffish and emotionally cut-off. As an adult I know why; I can see the sadness and plight of her life as a single mother. But how that shaped me as a young girl was beyond understanding, until I made an effort to dig in and understand.
Not having the emotional involvement from my Mom, coupled with being the awkward kid and bullied in middle school because of it, meant I suffered from intense feelings of rejection and feeling like I never measured up and wasn’t enough. I could never be good enough, smart enough, pretty enough, or do good enough in any task. As an adult, I prided myself on my ability to perform. I was one of the first to go to college in my family, but that didn’t satisfy me. I always needed to do more, be more, and prove to myself that I was worthy of true, deep, and meaningful relationships.
I was already pregnant by the time I realized that all the work I’d done, both academically and emotionally, didn’t really get to the core questions of some major issues I needed to dig into. At 32 years old, I was an educated owner of a thriving mental health practice, doling out advice and steps to help others make others’ lives better. And here was I was, pregnant with high-risk twins, drowning in my tears, hating my life, and realizing…I didn’t even know myself.
Being pregnant, I was faced with the harsh reality that if I was ever going to be the mom I knew I needed to be (my textbooks taught me something), I needed to grow up, and fast! Throughout those dark days of pregnancy, trying to find myself, pondering my worth, I figured things out about myself I didn’t know that I didn’t know. My self-discoveries were painful and harsh, but I coveted what I learned.
Becoming Attached was my saving grace. Not only was I figuring how how to attach to love myself, I was learning how to love my husband again, how to receive love he was giving to me, and how the fear I had of being able to attach with my babies was really just an intense fear of being rejected by them—of them not loving me back. I was becoming attached. 
The lesson here is this: Life doesn’t gives us what we think we want, but what we absolutely need. The lesson presents itself again and again until we finally, once and for all, get it. The lessons are hard, painful, and maddening.
When my babies were born, I was transformed. Their very presence made something intense and beyond my understand rise up in my body to take over, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t credit months and months of digging, churning, and yearning to understand the depths of my soul. What I learned by peering into my aching soul was that it was okay to open up, attach, be vulnerable, and to love myself and others in a way that surpasses all understanding.
What I learned was love.
